


Working Through The Knots

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Era, F/F, F/M, Female Sam Winchester, Gen, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Pre-Canon, Protective Dean Winchester, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 14:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21078587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An introspection into Sam's hair style...





	Working Through The Knots

**Author's Note:**

> I know, we see Jo Jeep her hair long even after she starts hunting. But she was raised by her mom. 
> 
> Sam and Dean, on the other hand, never had any womanly influence in their lives. They and John, Bobby, Caleb, and Pastor Jim. 
> 
> So, even if Sam is female, I figure she'd keep her hair short, and dress mostly the way Sam in canon does. Her time at Stanford just taught her to access the feminine side of herself just in case, even if she doesn't always use it.

It wasn’t a very busy day at the salon, so Allison had relaxed with a book. Her mom had given everyone else the day off, but Allison liked the familiar surroundings, so she had permission to stay, provided she locked up before returning to their apartment on the second floor. 

She’d just gotten to a good part, when the bell over the door jingled. She looked up to see Dean Winchester step in, with a younger girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, trail behind him, looking highly uncomfortable and self-conscious.

“Hiya, Dean,” she crooned, smiling invitingly. She had a brief thought as to who the girl was, but didn’t worry about it. It wasn’t like she’d expected to be the only girl Dean liked to have fun with.

Dean grinned at her, sauntering forward to kiss her. “Hey, sweetheart. Got a favor to ask of you.”

She raised an eyebrow and he gestured to his companion. “This is my sister, Sam.”

“Hi, Sam,” she greeted, shaking the offered hand. The skin was rough, she noted absently, and there was strength in the long fingers. Just like her brother. 

“So, how can I help?” She asked. 

“Well, you know, what with the moving around constantly, there’s not much chance to go shopping for dresses and stuff. Or to get a proper haircut,” Dean explained. “And Samantha here has her prom in an hour or so, and she’s freaking out over having nothing to wear, though really, if she’d told me yesterday…”

Allison saw Sam shift ever so slightly- judging by Dean’s quick grimace of pain, she assumed he’d gotten his foot stomped on. 

“_Anyway_,” he went on. “I know it’s short notice, but I was hoping you could help her pick out a dress from the store nearby…”

“Don't be silly,” she waved his suggestion away. “Are you actually planning on ever wearing a prom dress ever again in your life? If you guys are always moving?”

The question was directed to Sam, who shook her head. “No, not really, I guess.”

“Right, then I think I have something of mine that’ll fit you perfectly, if you’re comfortable with it.”

Was that relief she saw flit over both their faces? 

“That’d be great, Allison, thank you,” Sam said, with a smile. 

“Let's get your hair done first,” she suggested, leading her over to the mirror. 

“Actually, Allison,” Dean interrupted. He looked slightly unsure, something she’d never seen him as before. “Do you think- could you teach me how to cut her hair? Just, you know, for next time, when we...”

With Sam seated in the chair, Allison resisted the urge to chuckle. For all of Dean’s macho, bad boy act, the guy visibly melted for his sister, practically putty in her hands.

They spent the next forty minutes with a pair of scissors in Allison’s hand and another in Dean’s. She instructed him carefully, making sure his hands didn’t slip and make a wrong cut, though they were actually really steady. Once that was done, she took Sam up to her apartment offering her a look at a modest selection of dresses. 

In a few minutes, Sam stepped out wearing a deep blue dress that hung off her shoulders, clinging to her slim hips and showing off her tanned skin. 

Allison nodded appreciatively and as Sam blushed under the scrutiny, she also took the opportunity to really look at her. Now that she knew, there was no mistaking the resemblance between the siblings; same rose-pink lips, same wide green eyes- though Sam’s were darker, more hazel. She was as tall as Allison, but with long, gangly limbs and a coltishness that suggested she still had growing to do. Most curiously, she held herself the same way Dean did- feet set, shoulders relaxed, back straight and half-facing her at all times- like, they were trying to relax, but were ready for anything that might happen. Not for the first time, she wondered what exactly had happened that had groomed this kind of tension into both of them.

“You look great,” she assured. “Let’s get your makeup done. And don’t worry, I’m an expert. I’ll have you ready in time and teach you the tricks and tips of glamming up.”

She did exactly that and the younger girl was a very quick study, quickly picking up the skill of mixing her colors appropriately. 

When they were done, she followed Sam back down stairs. Allison grinned when Dean seemed to freeze for a few seconds, his entire attention fixed on his sister, awe and disbelief painting his features.

“Dean?” Sam called, somehow fitting more than one question in a single word.

Dean swallowed, blinking rapidly. “You look great, Sammy,” he said softly, genuinely. “You look beautiful.” He turned to Allison, clearing his throat. “Thanks a lot, babe,” he said, all smoothness and charm again. “I owe you one.”

“Nah,” she laughed it off. “I didn’t really have to do much. Sam’s got all the natural beauty. I just highlighted it for her.” She winked at them playfully. “You're gonna have your hands full, Dean, with all the boys chasing after her.”

For a split second, she thought she saw a shadow pass over his face. But then Sam was laughing, bright and contagious, and he grinned too, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, brat,” he sighed mockingly. “Your dance starts in a few minutes, and we have to pick up your date.”

Allison gave Sam a last once-over. She’d done a pretty good job of the hair, if she said so herself. It had been choppy, flat bangs when she’d walked in. Now, the long pixie cut Allison had given her accentuated her cheekbones, giving her a more feminine aura that had been missing previously. 

“Enjoy yourself, Sam,” she said with a smile. 

Sam waved at her in return, dimples flashing, and turned away. Allison smiled to herself again. Sometimes, she’d wondered, and even worried a bit, about the darkness in Dean that he tried so hard to hide. She’d wondered what kept him safe from that darkness. 

She knew now.

* * *

Zach skimmed his hand over Sam's bare thigh, grinning into the kiss when she shivered beneath him. “You run?” He asked, feeling the taut muscles in her legs and tracing the light outlines of her abs. 

Sam nodded. “Did track in high school. And…” There was a little pause, as there often was, like she was considering how much to tell him. “And Dad was a Marine. He made me and my brother train a lot.”

“Self-defense?” He guessed. 

She shrugged, nipping at his ear. “And other stuff,” she answered vaguely. 

Zach rolled over beside her and she curled into him. He traced a hand over her back, feeling the little scars, the jagged one over her hip, the almost invisible one running from the base of her thumb to her wrist. These were the stuff he was always wary of asking her about, because, sometimes… sometimes, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the story behind them. 

So, instead, he moved his hand to stroke through her short hair, stopping when she tensed. 

“What's wrong?” He asked in a mumble. 

Sam took a minute to answer. “Not used to people touching my hair,” she said. She sounded confused, like she wasn’t sure of what she was saying, or why she was saying it.

Zach propped his head up on his hand, looking down at her. “Have you ever had a boyfriend before Stanford?”

She averted her eyes. “Nothing steady,” she admitted. “I’ve told you: we moved around too much. The only constants I had were my father and my brother. And my brother…” Her lips quirked up in a small smile. “He used to play with my hair. When I was sick, or when I beat him in a spar or outran him, or just to tease me. In fact…” Her eyes, shining green in the dim light of the lamp, had a faraway look. “Now I think about it, that’s probably why he liked my hair short. Easier to mess up.”

“Your brother had a say in how to keep your hair?” Zach asked, curious. 

Sam met his eyes, with a cute frown that made him want to kiss her nose. “We never really had enough money to afford professional haircuts,” she said slowly. “And… my dad is a bit of a paranoid bastard. He’d say that long hair is a vulnerability. So I used to just chop it off with safety scissors. Then once, Dean took me to his girlfriend of the month, whose mom happened to own a salon. She fixed me up, shaped my hair the way it is now. And Dean learned to cut my hair, so whenever it started getting long, he could cut it this same way.”

Zach noted the soft fondness in her tone. “You miss him?” He asked, knowing he probably wouldn’t get a straight answer.

Surprisingly, Sam sighed. “Yes, I do.”

He took a further risk. “Do you still talk to him?”

“Nope,” she said. “I'm angry at him. And he’s mad at me for leaving. We’re both too stubborn, so we probably aren’t going to talk for a long time, unless someone is dead or dying.”

“Why are you mad at him?” Zach almost couldn’t believe he was actually getting to know this stuff, given how Sam kept her secrets like an oyster kept it’s pearl. 

“Dean did a lot for me,” Sam murmured. “But the one time I needed him the most, he took dad’s side. And now, it’s like, I’m adding every other time he chose Dad over me, like the thing about my hair. So I keep getting angrier. Because, the very fact that he’s not calling me means that he still thinks Dad was right and I was wrong; ergo, I should have stayed with them.”

Zach exhaled loudly, feeling Sam get fidgety. She was waiting for something, he realized, waiting for something _from_ _him_. He wasn’t sure what. 

“Here's an idea,” he started. “Don’t cut your hair again. Grow it out. Break that rule they’ve imposed on you. Maybe you’ll feel better. Maybe you’ll even feel a little less angry at your brother.”

Sam didn’t answer, just closed her eyes momentarily, before getting up. Zach briefly considered asking her to stay the night, but decided against it. They had time. 

He never did find out if she reconciled with her brother or not, but he noticed a couple months later that Sam’s hair had started to curl below her shoulder blades. And that was enough to make him smile a little proudly.

* * *

Jessica couldn’t stop smiling. Sam was glowering at her in the mirror as she let her do her hair. 

“I still don’t understand why we have to do this,” she muttered. “I'm perfectly capable of tying my own hair. You taught me."

“I know,” Jess replied with a hum. “But I love doing it. And it’s punishment.”

“Punishment?” Sam echoed, wincing as she tugged at a knot. 

“Yep. For not telling me where you’re going.”

Sam sighed. “To work,” she said. “At… at a self-defense class.”

Jess slowed, taking her time with the silky tresses, loving the texture and the way Sam subtly arched back when she tugged slightly. “To _teach_ self-defense?” She asked, just to be sure. 

“Yeah.”

Jessica didn’t say anything to that. She wouldn’t know _what_ to say. Sam’s crazy fighting skills- which she’d only found about two weeks ago when she’d singlehandedly brought down two muggers on their way back from the bar- was just another entry in the long list of things that were weird about Samantha Winchester. 

A list that included salt lining all the windows and doors at all times, memorizing things in Latin, personally knowing the bartender in a remote back-alley club and the fact that she’d had no idea how to properly do her own hair before Jess taught her. 

“Jess?”

She startled, realizing she was just standing still with Sam’s hair slipping through her fingers. “Is that why you used to keep your hair short?” She blurted out. 

Sam stared at her, confused. 

Jessica took a breath. “You said your father taught you to fight,” she spoke slowly. “Does that have anything to do with why you never learned to do your hair? Hence, why you never grew it out?” Jess remembered the first time she’d met Sam in sophomore year, remembered being taken in by the open face with secretive eyes and wide smile, all of it framed by a mess of short spiky hair that brought out all the planes and angles of her features- she remembered being ever so slightly jealous of Zach. She remembered being even more in awe when they’d started dating and Sam’s hair was longer, not taking anything away from the unique beauty Jess had seen at first. 

Only now, she wondered if there wasn’t a deeper reason to all that, all the choices Sam made, all the things she knew without any reason to know them, all the things she should know but didn’t.

“It’s got something to do with that,” Sam agreed. And Jessica knew that was all she was gonna get out of her. 

So she finished plaiting her hair and stepped back, letting her girlfriend of two years stand and put on her shoes. 

“I'll be back for dinner, okay?” She said, kissing her. 

Jess smiled and watched as Sam returned it. But there was sadness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before and Jess knew she was thinking about her old life, before Stanford. And not for the first time, Jess cursed the name of John Winchester, for everything he’d ever said and done to put that look in Sam’s eyes.

* * *

Dean almost thought she wouldn’t come.

He stood in front of Impala, leaning against the hood, glad of the late hour so no one would be up. Logically, he knew Sam wouldn’t go back on her agreement to come with him. But, if he was being honest, he’d also once been just as sure that she wouldn’t just up and leave them for college. Wouldn’t leave _him_. 

“Alright, let’s go.”

He resisted the urge to grin when Sam appeared in front of him, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Funny how some habits never went away, Dean mused. She still matched her steps to his as they walked to the car doors, still left her plaid shirt unbuttoned over the thin T-shirt she wore beneath it, still bit back a smile when he made a crude joke. 

Despite the urgency, a part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders, make her stand still so he could peacefully catalogue all the changes in her, the ones he’d been too far away to note on the occasions he’d driven up to Palo Alto to secretly check up on her. 

But Sam had made it clear that she wanted to wash her hands of them (_of him_), so he would respect that. He had to, otherwise she wasn’t above ordering him to stop the car and just walking back to her college.

So he focused on the least volatile topic. 

“You grew your hair out,” he said. 

Immediately, Sam raised a hand to comb throughout the end of her thick plait, resting over her shoulder. “Yeah. I did. You and Dad weren’t around to tell me not to,” she all but snapped.

Dean didn’t reply. 

“It’s not like I’ve been regularly hunting,” she mumbled after a few seconds, gazing up at him through her bangs, probably recognizing that her outburst had hurt him a little. He wanted to laugh at that; three years apart, two of them with no contact, and she could still read him like a book. 

“Wait, what do you mean ‘_regularly_’?” He frowned, her words sinking in. “Sammy?”

She scowled, fidgeting. “There was a haunting in the grad-students dormitories,” she muttered. “A student who’d committed suicide because of bullying and ragging. I couldn’t just sit twiddling my thumbs.”

“Oh, so you decided to go solo?” Dean snapped. 

“Dean, it was a just a simple salt n' burn,” she insisted. 

“Bullshit,” he muttered, remembering the articles on a rumored werewolf sighting. He and Dad had been up and ready to leave, because it had been spotted _way_ too close to Stanford, but Bobby had called them up to tell them that another hunter who’d been passing through the area had taken care of it. Dad had asked for a name, but had gotten a “_They asked to remain confidential, John, I ain’t breaking their trust_,” in reply. 

“You took care of that werewolf last year too, didn’t you?” He demanded. 

“It was newly turned, had no idea what was happening to it, and had been already been pretty badly injured by getting hit by a car, somehow,” she told him. “It was fine.”

“Where did you even get silver bullets?” He asked, grudgingly. “Or a gun? You left all your weapons when you left.”

“I kept my daggers,” she admitted. 

“_You went after a werewolf with just a dagger?_” His voice was threatening to crescendo and he fought it back down when she snickered at his expression. Dean wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. So he settled on the reluctant pride that his baby sister had taken care of a damn werewolf all by herself. 

“Well, it looks good,” he said, deliberately out of the blue. 

Sure enough, Sam looked at with big, confused puppy eyes. “What?”

He gestured vaguely to her person. “The hair. Looks good. Suits you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to gauge his seriousness. Then she smiled, small and bright with a light blush, making him swallow and avert his eyes.

* * *

Sam stared at the mirror, blankly. Dean was leaning against the bathroom door, watching her warily, concerned. 

“Sam?” He called softly. 

She didn’t react, other than to hold out the scissors to him. “Please.” Her voice was hoarse with tears, the first tears she’d let herself shed since hitting the road with Dean after Jessic- after the fire. 

Dean moved to stand behind her, slowly taking the scissors. He met her red, teary eyes in the mirror. “You sure?” He asked, gently. 

Sam nodded, because this wasn’t just about Jess. This was about letting go of the dreams she’d so carefully nurtured, of abandoning the innocence she’d fought to keep. This was about leaving behind _Sam_, the smart pre-law student, and going back to being _Sam Winchester_, the hunter. 

So she nodded, trying to curb the sobs. 

Behind her, Dean sighed, sad and weary. He raised his hand and Sam closed her eyes as he made the first snip. 


End file.
